Romano Loves Surprises
by polydimensional
Summary: Germany is sick of Romano's sour attitude and is convinced that the Italian nation is incapable of love...until Spain returns early after a long war, and he witnesses Romano's touching reaction to the surprise homecoming. Established Spamano and Gerita.


**A/N: **Just a short fic that took control over my brain for a while. For those who are reading my South Park story, 'Dirty Hole,' be assured that I haven't given up on it - chapter two is in the works! Life just keeps getting in the way...

* * *

This was a very bad idea.

Germany swept a pile of chopped potatoes into a ceramic bowl and glanced at the kitchen clock with mounting dread. Beside him, Italy was dicing tomatoes and onions, whistling cheerfully. He stopped long enough to give an enormous pot of pasta a loving stir and turn the heat on the stove down a little.

"_Ve_, Luddy, what's wrong? You don't look happy."

Not that Germany ever really looked happy, but Italy had noticed that his usual constipated expression grew more severe with each hour that passed. He frowned a little.

"This is about _mio fratello_, isn't it?"

Germany sighed. "Feli, are you sure we should do this? You and I both know your brother hates surprises."

"_Ve_, what are you talking about? Romano loves surprises!" Italy smiled fondly. "You'll see...he's going to be so happy! He hasn't seen Antonio in almost a year."

Spain, along with Portugal, had recently declared war on France and had been away fighting for ten months. He had told Romano that he didn't expect to be back until early next year, but unbeknownst to Romano, he was coming home tonight. The war had ended victoriously and much sooner than expected, and for the past week, he had enlisted Italy and Germany's help in making sure news of the victory didn't reach Romano before he got back. As soon as Spain had called that morning and announced that he would be arriving today, Italy had insisted on throwing a dinner party and asked (well, the more appropriate term would be 'forced') Romano to attend. Italy was supposed to let Spain in through the kitchen door at six in the evening, and Germany was miserably counting down the hours until then.

Currently, it was ten to six, and Romano was somewhere in the dining room. Since he refused to cook in the same vicinity as Germany (something about "bastard potato hands rotting my tomatoes"), he had been sent on a search for Italy's china plates from the Renaissance Era. Germany could hear him grumbling and cursing from the kitchen, and his mood darkened.

"_Ja_, about that...don't you think Romano is glad he's been away for so long?"

Italy looked appalled.

"_Fratello_ loves Antonio! Don't you see how much he's missed him?"

"I don't see, actually," Germany admitted, a little frustrated. He could understand the blind devotion of a younger brother, but surely even Italy could realize how unpleasant his brother's attitude was. "He is always screaming at Spain; I was under the impression that he hates him."

"But they've been together for centuries! Way longer than we have, and look how happy we are together!" His expression suddenly grew troubled. "We are happy, aren't we, Ludwig?"

"Of course we are," Germany was quick to reassure him, "But...it's different with us. You don't try to knock out my teeth whenever I touch you."

Italy smiled knowingly. "I know Lovi has a funny way of showing it, but he does love Antonio. Just wait until he gets here, and you'll see how happy he's going to be!"

And with that being said, Italy turned back to his tomatoes, leaving no room for argument. Germany sighed but decided not to press any further. He couldn't understand Romano; it was hard to believe he was related to Italy at all. Italy was the most cheerful and affectionate person he had ever known, never without a goofy grin on his face (unless he ran out of pasta or a cat licked his face) and always with good things to say about others. Romano, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. Germany wasn't sure if the man was even capable of smiling, yet alone loving another human being. His comments were fifty percent cuss words and fifty percent complaints; he was loudmouthed, overly critical, easily offended, and too proud to even admit his own faults. What Spain saw in him, Germany couldn't imagine.

Spain was a lot like Italy; before Germany and Italy started dating, Germany had been afraid that Spain would get to him first. After all, he was cheerful and carefree and loved tomatoes just like Italy, while Germany was awkward and stoic and cherished potatoes above all other foods.

But for reasons unknown to him, Spain had chosen Romano instead.

The grandfather clock in the dining room chimed six times. This was it; there was no turning back now. Germany groaned, then quickly tried to cover it with a cough when Italy spun around and narrowed his eyes at him. Just as suddenly as it had changed, however, Italy's expression brightened again, and Germany gulped. Italian one-eighties never meant good news...

"Luddy," Italy began in his sweetest tone, "Antonio is going to be here any minute now. Would you mind going into the dining room and keeping Lovi distracted until then? Don't worry about dinner, I'll finish it up."

Germany's brow furrowed but he sighed sadly, resigned to his fate. Just because Italy had said "would you mind" did not mean that Germany had the option to refuse; if he did, Italy might "accidentally" overcook his potatoes, and then Germany would have to face a cold, lonely night on the couch with only burnt potatoes in his stomach to keep him company. He swept the last of the potato chunks into the bowl and briefly rinsed his hands under the faucet, wiping his hands reluctantly on a dishrag afterwards.

"Sure, Feli."

"_Ve, grazie_, Luddy!"

Defeated, Germany accepted a quick peck on the cheek before gathering his wits and stepping out through the kitchen door. He had avoided one battle, but the treaty demanded he face another one led by an even more ruthless commander. Hopefully he wouldn't use the moustache tactic this time...

He entered the dining room to discover that Romano had managed to locate Italy's plates despite the festive string of curses he had uttered earlier, and was setting them on fancy, linen placemats. He was humming a flamenco tune faintly as he arranged wine glasses and silver cutlery on the dinner table, but quickly stopped humming when he noticed Germany. He looked up with a scowl.

"What do you want, potato bastard? Can't you see I'm busy?"

Germany sighed internally and readied himself for a grueling and possibly calamitous battle, one he knew would rack up the casualties and cause crippling damage to both his pride and his sanity: small talk.

"So," he began awkwardly, clearly his throat lightly to dislodge a lump of dread. "How have you been?"

Romano stared. Germany willed his hand to stop twitching, and ordered his legs to remain where they were and not retreat back into the safety of the kitchen. _Come on, Ludwig, you're a soldier! A warrior! You braved wars and politics and potato shortages still came out on top! Remember World War II, when you camped out in the middle of winter in Siberia, waiting for those damned Soviets to surrender? Happier times, weren't they? Pull yourself together, soldier! Do not retreat – _Das ist ein Befehl _(that's an order)!_

During Germany's inner pep talk, Romano managed to regain his composure and replace his confusion with suspicion.

"Why the hell do you care, _bastardo_?"

Germany's eyes darted quickly to the grandfather clock. It was already five minutes past six, why wasn't Italy coming out with Spain and relieving Germany of this disastrous mission? He cleared his throat again and attempted to sound sincere.

"Well, I think it's only reasonable that we are familiar with each other. I am dating your brother, after all."

Romano's face darkened at the reminder.

"You think I haven't noticed that, you damn potato eater? Don't act like I'm stupid – you can pull that crap off with my brother, but not with me. I know something's up."

"Romano, please," Germany implored through grit teeth. "Can't we have a decent conversation?"

"Why?" Romano demanded. He moved to the other side of the table to readjust the tablecloth, his back to the kitchen. Germany seized the opportunity and moved swiftly to the spot where Romano had just been, keeping his eyes fixed on the kitchen door. Why hadn't it opened yet?

Romano regarded his strange behavior with a confused scowl that was quickly growing annoyed.

"What the hell is up with you today? Too much wurst in your ass, _Herr Sassafras_?"

Germany's brows furrowed slightly at the insult and he opened his mouth to retort, but at that moment, the grandfather clocked announced with a single chime that it was now six fifteen. Germany heard two voices mumbling faintly in the kitchen, and he sent out a silent prayer of gratitude. The Battle of Small Talk was finally at an end, and peace terms were negotiable now that Spain was here.

"Nothing is wrong, Romano," Germany assured him in a relieved tone. The kitchen door swung open quietly and Spain stood in the doorframe, Italy peeking out from behind him. "I've just been trying to distract you."

Romano narrowed his eyes, his back still turned to the kitchen. "Distract me from what?"

"From me."

Romano turned away from Germany and whirled around to face Spain instead. For a moment he just stood there, completely speechless. Germany couldn't see his face, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it was distorted by an expression of angry shock and disappointment at Spain's early return. He braced himself for the one-sided screaming match he knew was coming and quickly located Italy's position in the room, just in case he needed to grab him and make a hasty getaway.

Seconds ticked by. Then, suddenly, Romano yelped, "Toni!" and threw himself into Spain's waiting arms.

Now it was Germany's turn to be shocked. He had expected Romano to curse and shout insults. He had expected him to run over and slap Spain without hesitation, screaming at him for showing up too soon. He had even expected him to completely ignore Spain and just walk right out the door. What he didn't expect was for him to have such a…_positive _reaction.

Romano was still hanging onto Spain, feet off the ground and hands holding the back of his neck, while one of Spain's arms was wrapped around his waist, the other rubbing up and down his back soothingly. Spain swung him gently around, giving Germany a view of his face. Romano was clutching the collar of Spain's shirt tightly, turning his face every so often to press a kiss against his neck. There were also…Germany had to shake his head and take another look, but his eyes weren't deceiving him…there were also tears running down Romano's face, and he was whimpering quietly into Spain's shoulder.

Italy moved to stand next to Germany and smiled up at him. "See, Luddy? I told you he missed him."

Germany smiled back, humbled at being proven wrong in such a surprisingly pleasant way. "_Ja_, I see now."

Overhearing the exchange, Romano seemed to suddenly remember that he and Spain were not alone. He hopped off Spain and glared lightly at him.

"You tricked me!" he cried accusingly. "You said you wouldn't be here for another six months!"

Spain just laughed and held Romano's hands, leaning forward to kiss him. Despite their company, Romano didn't resist. He rubbed the back of his arm discreetly over his face when Spain pulled away, swallowing thickly to compose himself, and smiled tenderly when Spain kissed the remnants of a tear away. Germany didn't think he had ever seen Romano's lips shaped into anything other than a scowl, but seeing him smile with such softness and genuine affection…it made him reconsider a lot of things he thought he knew about the other Vargas twin.

Romano exclaimed delightedly over the gifts Spain had brought back for him, and Spain inquired after the well-being of their pet turtles and lamented over how much he had missed Romano's tomato and seafood stew after months of living off of hardtack and military rations. When everyone sat down for dinner (after Italy quickly set the table for one more), Germany regarded the reunited couple with new interest. He noticed the softness in Romano's eyes, the way he served the best portions of dinner onto Spain's plate, and the happy smiles he couldn't suppress every time Spain asked him something or touched his hand, and he finally understood what Spain saw in him.

Germany popped a perfectly cooked piece of potato into his mouth and thought to himself, _Maybe Romano is capable of love after all._


End file.
